Shut the Door, Keep Out the Devil
by paperbkryter
Summary: Sam decides to go through with his plan to put Lucifer back in the box and starts preparing for that final stand. Contains major spoiler from The Devil You Know.
1. Chapter 1

Sam Winchester was tired. Not tired as in exhausted, although that wasn't far off either, but tired as in fed up with being "The Problem."

All the patronizing _"it's not your fault" _comments had always struck him as false, despite the sincerity clearly evident in those who said it. This was not so much the truth anymore. There was a definite sour note surrounding those reassurances now, because obviously it _was _Sam's fault. Nobody else decided Ruby was a good idea. Nobody else lost sight of themselves they way he had, falling prey to the very thing he'd so desperately tried to avoid – his own curse. He, Sam Winchester, had opened the gate and set Lucifer free. He had been the last bastion of defense between the world and the Apocalypse and he'd fucked that up real good.

Even now, however, it was easy to see him as the victim. He'd been duped, seduced by a pretty demon bitch. He'd been – more or less – drugged out of his rational mind. The truth was Sam had always considered himself more the _problem_ than the victim, always the one needing to be protected, whether it was from others, or himself, and always at a horrible cost. The bodies left in his wake numbered in the hundreds, if not the thousands. He'd lost countless friends, and only the tattered remnants of a painfully dysfunctional family remained. They'd paid the price too. One was emotionally handicapped, the other, physically. If Dean wasn't fucked up before he went to Hell for Sam, he was now, and Bobby's wheelchair had Sam Winchester's name written all over it.

It wasn't over either, not by a long shot. The demons were demanding Bobby's death. The angels were pissing themselves to put Michael in Dean's meat. Sam was once again playing the rope in a cosmic sized game of tug of war. He was the problem yet again, and those close to him were being asked to make sacrifices - again. How fair was that? Dean had dedicated his life to protecting Sam. He'd given up his soul once already, and now he was being asked for his physical body too? No. No way.

Sam was tired. He was tired of being the victim, the problem, the monkey in the middle; tired of watching everyone around him suffer on his account. The life he'd always dreamed of having was completely unattainable now. Even if they came out of the last battle unscathed, what would be the point? So let's say they succeeded in throwing Lucifer back in jail, what then? Nothing would change. Sam would still have demon blood in his veins, still be tempted to grasp the power he always felt tickling and taunting him at the back of his mind, and he'd still have his ass on the line. He was, and always would be, the key to Lucifer's prison door. Angels, demons and Hunters would all be hot on his tail for the rest of his life. Friends and family? Forget it. Sam would drag down anyone who dared stand beside him.

Dean would never have the life he really wanted, attain the secret desires he'd always kept hidden. There would be no wife, no children, no white picket fences and family dogs. He'd spend the rest of his life doing what he'd always done - protecting Sam, and protecting others _from_ Sam. Call it love, or duty, or whatever, Dean would never leave his brother's side.

It was time, then, for Sam to make a sacrifice. They'd lock Lucifer up and they'd throw away the key, Sam was about to see to that. What he was about to do would probably mean the death of him in one way or another, but it would save the world and free his brother. No price was too high for that reward.

He dropped the burning match he held clutched between his fingers. Acrid smoke rose from the contents of the battered metal bowl sitting at his feet. Sam inhaled deeply and spoke the last word of the spell he conducted.

Almost immediately a voice came from the shadows.

"You rang?"

The alley Sam had chosen was small and narrow, crowded with trash and riddled with puddles of foetid dark liquid. Sam had located a dry spot at the back near a brick wall. So had Crowley, much as Sam suspected he would. The shoes the demon wore cost a fortune.

Quickly, before Crowley could take a step, Sam knelt and with one quick flip of his wrist, made the line that would close his trap. He'd drawn it using a black wax candle. In the dim light of the alley it was virtually undetectable to the human eye. Banking on Crowley's vanity, Sam anticipated the demon looking out for chalk lines or spray paint instead. After all, humans were clumsy and stupid when it came to magic, bumbling around with chalk and herbs as if they knew what they were doing. Sam had picked up on Crowley's disdain for human magic in the comments he had made about Sam's hex bags. He'd taken pains to make sure he played his A-game this time.

Crowley raised one eyebrow as he looked down at his feet, then at Sam. "Nicely done. Ruby taught you more than stick and bone magic I see." He crossed his arms and cocked his head, frowning. His voice was chiding, as if he spoke to a wayward toddler. "Does your brother know you've attained the skills and become the definition of a practicing warlock, Sammy? Meethinks he'd disapprove."

"I don't need his approval."

"Funny, that comment. I've gotten the impression that you've been working particularly hard of late to gain Dean's approval. This makes sense. After all, he's one of the few – say, maybe three – people in the world not trying to kill you at the moment. Best keep him happy." Making a faint gesture toward the circle Crowley added, "I don't think this little exercise in the dark arts is going to do the trick."

Sam took a step toward the outermost boundary of the trap, standing just shy of stepping over into it. "It serves its purpose."

"Indeed," Crowley agreed. "The immediate purpose is clear of course, but beyond that my curiosity remains piqued."

"You're about to become a hero, Crowley." Sam said quietly. "How do you feel about martyrdom?"

The affable, slightly smug expression on the demon's face abruptly vanished. "What?"

Sam slipped Ruby's knife out of his pocket. "You know, I see right through you. Yeah, you've been livin' large up here, you and your little demon cronies. It's obvious why you want Lucifer locked up again. He's going to screw up your good times, and your little alliance with us is so typical – you're nothing but a user."

"No denial there." Crowley's eyes narrowed as he watched Sam skirt the edge of the circle with the toes of his shoes avoiding the lines by a hairs breadth. "I don't like getting my hands dirty."

"And it's a win-win situation for you isn't it? If we lose, you get credit for leading us right into Lucifer's hands. If we win, you'll kill us, not only because we'll hunt down you and every other demon we can find afterward, but putting our heads on a pike will make you a lot of friends in high places. You have taken a pretty big hit in the popularity department lately. You said so yourself."

Crowley let out a little exasperated "puff" of air. "So you're going to kill me first? Offing a powerful ally, that makes sense." His face twisted in fury when he realized Sam wasn't going to yield. "Look, I just want my life back you oversized sack of shit!" He shrieked. "You think you're going to trap Lucifer like this? With wax and herbs? He'll fry you Sammy-boy! He's no demon. He _created _us. God once sat on his throne with Michael on his right and Lucifer on his left – making him the third most powerful being in the universe. YOU CAN'T WIN THIS WITHOUT ME!!"

The reply was spoken in a voice soft and low, with a chillingly ominous tone.

"You've got that right."

Sam lunged into the circle, arm whipping through the air in a broad arc that concluded at the juncture between Crowley's throat and jaw. The demon staggered. Blood literally exploded from the severed jugular, but was quickly contained. Sam clamped his mouth down over the wound, greedily sucking the flow of blood down his throat, letting none of it fall to the ground. He'd need it all, every drop. He groaned as urgent cravings suppressed now for months finally found relief. A shudder ran through his body. The sensation was close to orgasmic.

The demon struggled feebly. At first Sam contained him physically, using his greater height and strength, but as desperation grew and Crowley attempted to free himself with psychic power, Sam made a similar shift in strategy. The first taste of demon blood had immediately awakened his own power. Subduing his rapidly weakening victim took little effort, and once his hold was established, Sam had no opposition. His unleashed abilities quickly made short work of Crowley. Sam drained him dry of both life and blood before dropping the empty husk onto the pavement in a broken heap.

Sam stepped back, panting, blood staining his mouth and chin, his eyes a reflection of the darkness surrounding him. "You'll do your people proud, Crowley." He put out a foot and shoved the body over onto its back. One hand fell limply into a puddle. The nails were neatly trimmed, manicured. That figured.

"Pompous ass," Sam murmured, staring down into the startled expression frozen on Crowley's face. The demon hadn't hadn't fully comprehended just how much of a threat Sam really was to him and all his kind. Even trapped as he was he had not expected Sam to kill him. Overconfidence had become his downfall.

Idly, as if he were unaware of himself doing it, Sam ran his tongue down the blade of Ruby's knife – first one side, and then the other, savoring the last of Crowley's power-rich blood. Liquid gold, it couldn't be wasted.

The temptation to fry the body was strong. Sam's lip curled, his eyes glittered, and the sulfur laced scent of Hellfire stung his nostrils. His fingers burned and itched, sparks jumping between them. He could call the fire, always could, but had thought it a pretentious and unnecessary gesture of pure showmanship. Why waste his strength? This time, however, watching Crowley's meatsuit burn would be extremely satisfying.

"No." Sam smothered the fire, locked it all down, locked everything down. He had to save his newly acquired energy for the main event, not to mention hide it from Dean.

Sam knew he wasn't strong enough to wrench control of his body back from Lucifer, not without a little extra turbo boost. Crowley had been a very old and a very powerful demon, nearly as old and powerful as Lilith. His blood had borne the flavor of centuries of death and destruction. It tasted of countless souls bought and sold. Crowley was cold, calculating and vicious, and his blood carried the taint of those traits, amplifying them in Sam.

Which was exactly what he needed. Like Crowley, Lucifer could not be allowed to see what was coming. Sam had to bury his intentions deep, and move fast when the time came to strike. He needed power and cunning enough to counter Lucifer's own. Sam had thought long and hard about his own weaknesses and how to overcome them, and although the answer had been obvious, he'd skirted around it for weeks. The last thing he wanted to do was walk this path again. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

The final decision had been painful. This, the initial outcome of that decision, was not. His first taste of Crowley's blood had hit him like a freight train, obliterating the small voice of conscience reminding him that this was not a good thing. Sam drank, he sometimes smoked pot, and once took a hit of cocaine in college to keep him awake through a late-night cram session, but there was nothing like this high. Nothing. The sensation of feeling all the powers of Hell coursing through his veins was beyond anything he'd ever experienced before. It was an addiction from which he could never be broken. Ruby had been right in saying Sam's power had been with him all along, but the key to all the locks he placed upon that part of himself was in the blood. One taste blew the doors wide open.

He wiped the blood from his face with his coat sleeve, adding a new stain to those already present. He'd lie to Dean. He'd say a demon ambushed him on the way back. Sam had killed it, wiped the blood off the knife onto his sleeve. Dean would believe him because of the trust Sam had been working so hard to rebuild between them. If Dean knew what Sam was really doing, there would never be trust between them again. Crowley had gotten that part right.

Sam tucked the knife away and rolled his shoulders to shake out the kinks. It didn't matter. Even if he survived the battle with Lucifer it wouldn't be for long. His first round of detox had been bad. Withdrawal from the blood of Famine's minions had nearly killed him, triggering seizures so violent he'd dislocated both shoulders. Crowley's blood was a thousand times more potent. Sam just hoped to God Dean would have the wherewithal to shoot him before it got too bad.

He'd made the excuse of a beer run to get away from Dean in the first place, and he wouldn't be lying about that. A brown paper bag was tucked up nice and neat along the alley wall behind him. Sam retrieved it, and with one last smug look at Crowley's body, continued on his way.

A silhouette at the mouth of the alley stopped him in his tracks. Cast against the light of a street lamp on the sidewalk behind him, the figure was an unrecognizable man-shaped shaddow. The only clue to his identity was the faint outline of wings stretched out above his head. It was a fluke, a rare combination of light and shadow that rendered them visible to Sam's mortal eyes. A slight shift in position and they were gone again, leaving behind the simple silhouette of an average sized man.

Neither of them spoke as Sam slowly made his wary approach. He could feel himself gathering power, wondering if he dared use it. He couldn't afford to use it, hoped he wouldn't have to for more than one reason.

"Cas," Sam said softly. His voice held just the hint of a challenge.

Castiel did not reply. He did, however, take another step forward, his smoky gray eyes shifting from Sam, to the body lying on the pavement, and back again, obviously realizing what had taken place there. Sam stiffened under his gaze.

_Don't try to stop me Cas. Don't make me hurt you._

"Would you, Sam?" Castiel replied quietly.

"I could," Sam whispered. "You aren't what you were before, Cas. I could kill you where you stand. "

"_Could_ and _would_ are two different things."

"If you tried to keep me from doing this, Castiel, I _would _kill you." Sam's heart twisted with remorse – just the words themselves stung. "Please. It's the only way and you know it."

Their eyes locked. Neither of them spoke.

After a moment, Castiel stepped aside and let Sam pass without another word.

He hurried back to the hotel where his brother waited. Dean was already half drunk and didn't even notice the blood on Sam's sleeve, let alone ask any questions. They were both hitting the booze hard these days. It drowned out the pain and put a leash on the worst of the nightmares. What dreams they did have were muddled-up by alcohol, making them inhospitable to uninvited guests - like angels, fallen or otherwise.

There was not just beer in Sam's bag, but another bottle of whiskey. He poured them both a glass.

"Here's to making a stand," Dean murmured, raising his glass somewhat unsteadily. His voice was slurred and his eyes seemed to wander off in two different directions. "Me and you, Sammy. We might go down, but we'll go down fightin'."

They touched glasses with a satisfying "clink" but as Sam drank deep of the whiskey, burning the sulfurously metallic taste of Crowley's blood from his tongue and throat, he thought:

_There will be no__** we**__ this time, Dean. You can't go where I have to go, do what I have to do. You just stand back and shut the door once I get there._

_It's my turn to experience Hell._


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note:

I do a lot of one note fics – mainly because in them I'm exploring a very specific idea. I don't really have a plot or anything, and I usually don't take them any further. This one, however, begs to be different. I don't know if I'll take it all the way to the inevitable confrontation or not, but so far it's rolling along pretty well toward that end. I also rarely post any fic before it's completely done, even the long multi-chapter things so this is a new one for me. Any and all encouragement is appreciated - I'm notorious for abandoning stories before completion. I've got a 53 page post-Sam vs. Lucifer fic sitting in my harddrive that - at the risk of sounding arrogant - I think ya'll might enjoy. I just can't get to the end of it. *shrugs*

Anyway, here's some more of "Shut the Door...."

* * *

Sam killed four more demons in the weeks it took them to procure the last of the Horsemans' rings, only one of them with any real power. He thought of it as "topping off the tank." Dean never suspected a thing.

Or so he thought.

They were halfway to their rendezvous with Lucifer, the Chevy's engine rumbling along with the thunder of an approaching storm, when Sam decided he'd better come clean. Dean needed to know what he was planning. Sam could drag the devil into their trap, but he needed Dean to lock the door behind him.

Both of them had been silent throughout the drive thus far. Dean hadn't even turned on the radio, which was never a good sign. It meant he was thinking, and that made Sam nervous. Dean could be as sharp minded as Sam when he wanted to be, could have gone to college and made something of himself if circumstances had been different. If Sam hadn't already realized this long before, it was made clear when Zachariah zapped them into corporate desk jockeys, with Dean landing in upper management. The angel hadn't changed them, he'd only tweaked what was already there, and dumped Sam in as a bottom feeder just to keep him out of the way. He'd wanted to point out Dean's natural inclination toward Hunting, and opened Sam's eyes instead. In Sam's opinion Zachariah's plan backfired. Dean had excelled at his job as Dean Smith. He was happy and content with no desire to chase ghosts – until Sam entered the picture.

_And that says it all._

Sam cleared his throat. It had been so quiet thus far, the sound was like an explosion, actually making Dean flinch. His eyes flashed quickly in Sam's direction. He'd been thinking, but was also concentrating driving. The rain had begun an hour ago, even through the bulk of the storm was still behind them, and the roads were just wet enough to be slippery.

"Dean...."

Dean interrupted him. "Don't."

"Don't," Sam smiled slightly. "You think this is going to be a 'last day on Earth' speech?"

"No."

The abruptness of the reply set of warning bells. Sam backtracked and proceeded with more caution. "So you just don't want to talk right now?"

"No, I just don't want _you_ to talk. I want you to listen."

_Crap. This can't be good. _

"After all we've been through, all the shit we've hashed out between us lately, and you still think I'm a complete moron?" The eyes flashed again. Sam caught a glimpse of Dean's expression.

_Pissed. He knows. He's __**known.**_

"I trusted you, Sam. I've given that back to you over and over again and every time you take it and screw me up the ass...."

"Dean...."

"Don't. Don't even try. I don't want to hear it. I've heard it all before." Dean's voice turned mocking. "_'I'm sorry, Dean. You don't understand, Dean. I thought it was the right thing to do, Dean._' It's all crap. You will _always_ do exactly what you want to do, and this was always going to end just like it's going to end."

"I'm not...."

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" This time the car did waver ever-so-slightly, skidding a bit on the wet pavement until Dean wrestled it and his temper back into check. "You're going to say yes, Sam. I know you are because you're just arrogant enough to think you can shove Lucifer back out of your meat."

"I killed Crowley," Sam said roughly. "I've been...."

Dean's tone was ice cold. "Tell me something I don't know." He glanced over for a third time, and Sam could see that coldness reflected in his eyes. "Bobby told me what you had up your sleeve. I tormented the snot out of Cas for the rest." After a pause, Dean shook his head sadly, his anger running out of steam. "How could you do this to me, Sam? Huh? Why work so hard at something and then just piss it down the toilet?"

Sam took the questions as rhetorical. He didn't answer them directly. "It's all I can do."

"You could have let me in on it."

"You wouldn't have liked it."

"That's not the point."

"No," Sam replied softly. "I guess it isn't."

A mile passed, and then another. When he spoke again Dean's voice was rough. The anger had fled, leaving behind only grief. "I have a chance, you know, with Michael. It's pretty damn slim, but it's better than nothing. You've got nothing, Sammy. Win or lose, between what you've done to yourself and what Lucifer's going to do to you, you're dead."

"Tell me something I don't know," Sam said wryly.

"And I'm supposed to just stand back and watch you commit suicide?"

"No, you're supposed to end the Apocalypse."

Dean snorted softly. "Right."

"I let him out. I'll put him back in. You just have to shut the door."

"Well ain't that just fuckin' peachy."

"It's Dad's ultimatum," Sam said. "Save me or kill me. I think it's obvious by now that nobody can save me, Dean. Not even you."

Sam should have known better than to bring up their father, for whom Dean's affection had turned bitter. His brother shot him a glare that indicated Dean had just gotten his stubborn up.

With narrow eyes and clenched jaw, Dean growled.

"Watch me."

"We're talking about the end of the world."

"No? Really? I did not know that. Thanks for enlightening me."

"I just.... " Sam sighed. "Something's gotta give, and this, what I'm doing, is maybe the only chance we've got. If it comes down between me and the end of the world, don't pick me, Dean. Please."

Dean's hands tightened around the steering wheel. "I can't, Sammy. I can't let billions of people die, not even for you."

"So don't."

"You've set me up."

"I have."

"Sam...." It was barely a whisper, in a tone as hurt and broken as Sam had ever heard before.

"And when it's all over," Sam continued, ignoring his aggrieved brother. "Go back to Lisa. Take what you want out of life, Dean. Let someone else step up to the plate. You can't top shutting down the Apocalypse so you might as well retire."

"You're pretty damn confident we're going to win this game."

"It's a front."

"Is it?"

"I'm totally pissing my pants right now."

Dean nodded knowingly. "If you weren't I'd think there was _really_ something wrong with you." He turned and gave Sam a careful look. "You aren't really are you?"

"What? Dude, no. I'm not pissing my pants for real."

"Good. I just had the car detailed."

Sam laughed and shook his head. "You're unbelievable."

Dean sighed. "It's a front."

"Crying in your beer?"

"Sobbing, dude." A muscle twitched in Dean's jaw. "Sobbing," he repeated, more softly this time.

And to that Sam had no reply.


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't Detroit. It was Chicago, the outskirts of Chicago, in a boarded up and abandoned warehouse.

_It's a sign of the times,_ Sam thought, squeezing his bulk through the narrow opening between a sheet of plywood and a broken window. _These places are so easy to find anymore. Abandoned homes too since the foreclosure crisis. I wonder if that would have happened if we hadn't triggered the Apocalypse?_

They'd spent the night in a house that might have cost a quarter of a million, probably did at one point. Now it was virtually a ruin. The previous owners trashed it prior to being evicted for not paying their mortgage. Sam and Dean had seen the same thing countless times before over the past year, and were, in a backward kind of way, grateful. If anything the current sorry state of the economy had provided them with much better living conditions. Sometimes people abandoned not only their homes, but their furniture.

_If I had a future I'd seriously consider getting one of those sleep number beds. _

Sam fell in behind Dean, and together they made their way to the center of a large, brightly lit room. It was completely empty. The expansive concrete floor had been neatly swept, and upon it had been drawn a pentagram filled with symbols Sam had never seen before. A large square encompassed the pentagram's circle, and at each corner was drawn smaller circles, within which lay the four Horsemans' rings.

_North, South, East, West. This is big. This is real big. That's why we needed Castiel and Bobby too. _

Castiel stood at the Southernmost point. Bobby guarded the West. Castiel had doffed his trench coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. In his hands was one of the Archangel's swords they'd acquired. Dean had another, and Bobby a third. One of them, the one Bobby now presented to Sam, had once belong to Lucifer. They'd taken it from Uriel, and where he came up with it was anybody's guess. Dean had Gabriel's. Sam had no knowledge of where the last one came from, the one in Castiel's hand.

Sam figured he had two options. First and foremost he could regain control enough to get Lucifer to step into their trap and thus back into imprisonment. If he failed this, he would attempt to turn the sword on himself, destroying Lucifer in that manner. As a last resort, if Sam could do neither of these things, Castiel and Dean were prepared to attack.

Dean took his place at the North. Sam moved to the center of the circle.

"Lucifer will come in from the East," Castiel murmured softly. "He is the Morning Star." He came to Sam and put a hand on his chest. A quick burning sensation inside made Sam gasp. The angel had removed the sigils etched into his bones.

Sam thought he was done, but he wasn't. Instead of removing his hand and walking away, Castiel grasped a handful of Sam's shirt and pulled him in closer. "I have no faith in you," the angel whispered. "You're a fool, Sam, with no idea what you're opening yourself up to. Dean has a clue, he's been to Hell. Being possessed by an archangel, particularly _this_ archangel, is worse. Your torment will. Never. End."

That said, Castiel released him, and returned to his position at the Southern corner. Dean moved in next, jerking his head toward the scowling angel.

"What'd he say?"

"I'm fucked," Sam replied, and winced to hear the waver in his voice. He was scared, now more than ever. "He said I'm fucked."

"Well, hooray for Captain Obvious."

Sam glared. "Thanks, Dean."

"Hey, this is your dance, Sammy. You can't fault us for having doubts given your sterling reputation for making smart decisions."

"You know, until now I've resisted the temptation to remind you that the first seal was _your _dance."

_Oh, that was a bad idea. _

Dean's expression hardened. He pulled no punches, nailing Sam to the wall with his retort. "Yeah, and there's a big difference between getting your rocks off with Ruby and having them _cut _off by Alistair. Nobody twisted your arm, Sam. You did this to yourself. You put yourself in this position. So if your plan to make up for your screw-up works, fine, that's great. If it doesn't...." Dean paused, staring into Sam's eyes for a long, tumultuous moment before concluding, "God help your soul."

Sam couldn't watch him walk away. He looked everywhere but at his brother, fighting back tears, knowing he couldn't afford to show any vulnerability to Lucifer. Tightening his grip on the hilt of the sword in his hand, he let physical pain distract him. He heard Castiel murmuring the words of a summoning spell and raised his own voice to the mix.

"All right you son-of-a-bitch! Here I am! Come get me!"

Castiel's chanting fell silent. The whole room fell silent, making the sibilant whisper that came out of the darkest corner seem all the more chilling.

"There's no need to shout."

Sam flinched, cursed under his breath. He hadn't expected the bastard to show up so quickly, and he was not, as Castiel predicted, coming in from the East where the "door" to their trap sat stood open. His voice had issued from the North, just to the right of where Dean stood.

Lucifer moved out of the shadows. His "temporary" vessel looked even more dog-eared than before, slowly but surely deteriorating, unable to contain the spirit inside it. Sam wondered uneasily if the original owner of the body was still in there somewhere, gradually losing his mind even as his body rotted around him. It wasn't a pleasant thought.

"Nor go to such elaborate measures to entertain me," Lucifer added with a slight sneer. "Come on, Dean," he said, rolling an eye in Dean's direction. "There's only one use for those rings, and it's to corral me. I was expecting something like this all the way back to the day you acquired your first from War."

Dean's lip curled in a snarl. "Then you know you're going down."

Lucifer smiled congenially. "No, sorry. I'm afraid I'm not."

He raised a hand, and would have, with just a quick flip of his wrist, sent Dean crashing through a bank of glass windows, which in turn would open up to a second story drop straight down to the pavement. It would have, had Sam not anticipated this move. His arm shot up, and as if in hand-to-hand combat, he blocked the blow. Where the two conflicting energies met, just yards from Dean, a spray of sparks erupted. Dean flinched but remained in position. The sparks faded away into the air.

Lucifer looked startled – at first. He turned on Castiel in a rage, only to realize it had not been the angel. Slowly he cocked his head and focused on Sam instead.

Sam gathered himself, holding back the pure, blind fury he felt toward this creature, fury that might lead him to attempt a head-to-head battle he would surely loose. He spread his legs slightly and raised his chin, holding the sword in an attitude of challenge. This display of body language did not escape Lucifer. With a sour smile he suddenly moved, too fast for the human eye to follow, reappearing directly in front of Sam.

Before Sam knew what was happening, the sword had been wrenched from his hand, and hurled away toward Castiel. At the same moment Lucifer jerked his head toward Bobby and sent the wheelchair careening off into the wall. Sam heard Dean shout Bobby's name, and an incoherent shriek from Cas, but he could not turn his head to look. His eyes were locked onto Lucifer's. He couldn't move, could barely breathe. The stench of rotting flesh was nearly overwhelming. A trickle of pus rolled down Lucifer's cheek like a dirty yellow teardrop.

"Ah, Sammy," the devil whispered, touching Sam's cheek lightly with his fingertips. "Did you really believe you could use the power _I _gave you, against me? Huh?" He cocked his head, looking intently into Sam's eyes. "You don't think I can feel it in you?" His lips parted slightly. "I can taste it in your breath." His eyes closed as he moved his face even closer to Sam's. They opened again as he inhaled deeply. "I can smell it on your skin. You're mine, and you always have been."

Sam managed to turn his head slightly. Castiel had moved back into his peripheral vision, clutching both swords in one hand. His free hand was clamped over his shoulder from which a brilliant crimson stain spread slowly across his white shirt. He was always pale, but what little he had was now gone beneath the sheen of sweat covering his face. The pain he felt showed only in the clenched jaw of his determined expression.

Behind him Sam picked up the faint murmur of voices, including Bobby's - "I'm okay, go! Go!" and the sound of Dean's boots shuffling across the concrete floor. He could smell the sharp bite of the holy oil Dean poured out along the outermost lines of the circle, and heard the soft "wuff" of a match bursting into light.

Lucifer's eyes narrowed.

"Yes," Sam said quickly, breathlessly drawing Lucifer's attention away from what the others were doing. "I'm yours. YES!"

"Good boy," Lucifer whispered. He shot out one arm and grasped Sam by the throat. " You've made a very wise decision."

Sam had his doubts, especially only seconds later when his senses were completely obliterated by a firestorm of white light and agonizing pain.


	4. Chapter 4

"_Sam? Sammy!"_

_Hurts, Dean. Can't breathe. _

" _Let me take a look at you. Hey, it's not that...it's not that bad. We'll patch you up, you'll be good as new. Sam? SAM!"_

_Is that thunder? Oh God I'm so cold. So cold it burns. _

"_SAM!"_

_Lemme 'lone. Tired. _

"SAM!"

Sam opened his eyes. Everything was fuzzy, slightly skewed, rolling in and out of focus like a ship rocking on heavy seas. Burning white light flashed and fluttered all around the edges of his field of vision. Pain addled his mind, making it difficult to even comprehend what he did see, making him want to flee back into the darkness. The pain was still present there, but more dull, more tolerable, not the sharp agony that met him here. This was a cold pain, like frozen razors cutting through his flesh all the way to the bone. It was a burning cold, a chemical burn, eating away at him like acid from the inside out.

He heard voices, indistinct voices interwoven with the sound of a man screaming in agony. One he recognized as Dean's, the other the low, sing-song voice of Castiel chanting words of a spell. The third voice, the one he heard the most clearly, was his own.

"You're wasting your time, Dean. It's over."

_My voice. Not my words. _

"Sam, if you're going to do this, you need to do it now!"

_What? Do what?_

"Dammit, Sam! Wake up!"

_Possessed. I'm possessed. Meg....._

_No. _

_Lucifer. _

Whether it were in response to Dean's words, or Sam's presence making itself known, Lucifer abruptly turned his attention inward, smashing Sam's consciousness down with a brutal blow. Darkness descended in a burst of needle-like pain_. _He could feel his body around him but could not control it. That did not cause him pain, only discomfort. The pain came from the possession itself, for he still occupied his body, a body also being forced to house the spirit of one of the most powerful beings in all creation. The human form was not meant to bear such a thing and it reacted accordingly - with an unbelievable amount of pain. Under Lucifer's attack Sam heard the screams change pitch, grow louder. He listened and realized he was the one he'd heard screaming in the background, screaming where no one else could hear.

_Stop. Stop. I can't. Stop._

"He can't hear you, Dean."

Sam tried to disengage himself from the pain, tried to listen to the voices beyond the clamor going on inside his head. His vision cleared enough for him to see the fire burning along the lines of their pentagram slowly dying down. He could see his own hands stretched out in front of him, making a soothing gesture.

But he could also feel a strong wind tugging at his hair and clothing. Cas had finished the spell and opened the portal. The prison door stood wide open. Sam couldn't see it – Lucifer faced the wrong direction – but he could feel it. Not only could he feel the maelstrom it created, but also the very strength of it. It drove the truth home. It made Sam realize the full extent of Lucifer's power. Not only had he been locked in this prison, but he'd been _sealed _into it, and each seal consisted of a number of elements that all had to fall into place _just so_, before it would break. The scope of it was monumental.

Lucifer had been plotting his escape for thousands of years, and every step he took over the course of that time had led him to one single being, the only one in the universe, who held the key to his freedom.

Sam Winchester.

Lucifer felt Sam's despair and laughed as the fires containing him grew weaker and weaker. In moments it would die out completely and he'd be free to walk away. They would never get him through the portal, and he made it very clear to Sam that when he left he would leave behind no survivors. He'd kill them all – Dean, Bobby, Cas – for in this attempt to capture him they had proved to be a bigger threat than he anticipated. The moment he stepped out of the pentagram, the end of the world would begin.

The line of flames between Lucifer and Dean flickered, struggling against the forces that sought to suppress them, and then, with a puff of smoke, they were gone.

Dean's eyes narrowed. His hand tightened on the hilt of the sword he held, but Sam could see just the barest hint of hesitation in the way he closed his grip. No matter what he told himself, no matter what the truth revealed, Dean would be influenced by what he saw before him, and what he saw was Sam. It was a nanosecond of hesitation, but Sam saw it. If Sam saw it, he had no doubt Lucifer saw it too.

In fact, Sam knew he did. He was no longer in the driver's seat, but that didn't mean he couldn't feel a turn of the wheel. The way his muscles suddenly tensed was all too familiar. He realized the way he moved, the way he gathered himself, all precipitated an attack. He could also feel the energy building within him, Lucifer's power, the supercharged strength of an archangel in his true vessel. What they'd seen him do before now was just the tip of the iceberg.

"Dean," Lucifer said quietly, his voice and manner belying the imminent attack building behind his words. "You're beginning to bore me."

It was launched without warning. In one moment Lucifer stood beyond the barrier, calmly soothing the flames holding him back, and in the next he was coming up behind an unsuspecting Dean, hands poised and ready to break his frail human neck.

_NO!_

Sam made a mental "grab," blindly seeking anything he could use to stop what was happening, something he'd done only once before, when he'd freed himself from the closet where he'd been trapped by Max Miller. He'd unexpectedly tapped into his abilities, triggering an uncontrolled burst of telekinetic energy. It had hurt and confused him then, just as it hurt and confused him now. But now, just as he had back then, he managed to come up with something useful – and this time he knew _how_ to use it.

It was the same telekinetic energy he'd used to move the cabinet Max had put in front of the closet door. It was much weaker, and Sam's control was only mildly better than it had been the first time, but he knew exactly how and where to direct it to its greatest effect. He threw it down at his own feet.

Lucifer stumbled.

Dean whipped around with the sword, and in the split second before Lucifer recovered, he drew blood. The blade bit deep into Sam's left side, parting flesh and scraping against bone. Sam felt it as a dull, aching pain compared to the raw agony Lucifer was putting him through, but Lucifer felt it too. He staggered slightly as he drew back clutching his side.

"It's like a new pair of shoes, ain't it?" Dean taunted. "Got to break 'em in."

"Or just break them," Lucifer snarled. His retaliation was swift, launched with vicious precision.

Sam retreated, not fast enough.

Lucifer sent him a vision of Hell.

Skinless flesh. Fleshless bones.

Crawling over bodies, some living, some rotting, all still alive.

Screaming. Writhing.

Slipping through blood and bowel.

Lips part over toothless gums, revealing a burnt and blackened tongue.

Eyes unscathed, turn their pleading gaze to an unseen tormentor.

Eyes Sam recognizes.

_Dean._

"_Real, as real as your brother's memories. I've been in his dreams as I have been in yours. I can make you live his nightmare, Sam. I can make you watch it as it happened, watch him break."_

_No._

"_Then stay out of my way."_

Lucifer let him go, allowing him access to the present once again, wanting Sam to bear witness to what happened next. Sam could feel the power building. He could hear the rumbling thunder and crack of lightening beyond the walls of the warehouse. Lucifer was not only utilizing the awesome power he himself wielded, but that of the Earth itself, drawing from the oncoming storm. Not only would he take out Dean, but Castiel, Bobby, the entire building, and everything within a three mile radius.

Instinctively Sam sought out a way to stop it, heedless of Lucifer's threats. He reached out toward the place where he'd found strength before, and found it available again. Lucifer knew it was there, but had not accessed it. While he drew energy from everywhere else, this one small area remained untouched.

_Why? Think, Sam, think._

_Can't. Can't get my head straight. God, it hurts...._

_He's not drawing from it because.....why? Wh....wait. It's because __**he **__doesn't need it!_

_It's the blood, the demon blood. _

_The magic feather. _

Castiel's voice: "Dean! The portal! We've got to do this NOW!"

Sam could see Dean's eyes shift toward the center of the circle. He moved toward it, and Lucifer followed, laughing.

"Careful, Dean!" he said, raising his voice to be heard above the storm. "You wouldn't want to get too close."

"Afraid?" Dean waved the sword tauntingly "Come on, I dare you."

_That's it, Dean. Keep him distracted._

Ruby had told him he didn't need the magic feather to fly, but Sam thought otherwise. It had bridged the gap between his rigid self control and the demon abilities that had been awakened in him by Azazel. It had primed the pump and unlocked the doors.

But what else could it do?

_There's only one way to find out._

"One of us is going to go through that door, Dean, and I can promise you it won't be me!"

Sam wrapped his mind around the power of the demon blood and _pulled. _

It was like removing the cork from a bottle of Champagne. The cork came out, but so did a fountain of liquid foam. Likewise, when Sam drew upon the demon blood as he had countless times before, it brought with it more than he'd asked for – just as it always did. This time, however, there was more to draw from than his own inherent abilities. He suddenly found himself siphoning off the power Lucifer himself was warehousing, the power he had harnessed from the storm. This was pure, natural energy, so far unadulterated by either good or evil. It came from the Earth itself, God's most cherished creation, and at the moment it was free for the taking.

_A sign? Has God really abandoned us?_

Suddenly Sam found himself back in the driver's seat.

Startled, he also found it immediately necessary to dodge another sword thrust from Dean. He jumped back, nearly fell, and upon regaining his feet he turned and ran toward the portal. Dean raced after him.

Sam stopped quickly, nearly toppling over the edge of black hole at the center of the room. Inside it dark green clouds rolled and boiled around each other in a a whirling maelstrom_. _Black lightening flashed in and out of the clouds while winds wailed like the souls of the damned. The whirlwind rose and fell within the confines of the portal, kicking up the air outside it as well. Sam turned around, wind whipping his hair into his face. Dean stood in front of him, poised to strike.

Lucifer seethed with fury, clawing his way back up to challenge Sam's control. The pain made him gasp out loud. He stumbled, clutching his midsection, tears filling his eyes. It felt as if Lucifer were trying to claw his way through his gut, and for all Sam knew, that was the case. He tasted blood at the back of his throat, felt his grip weaken. He could not make the final leap into the maelstrom. Lucifer still stood in his way.

"Dean...." he rasped. "Do it. Hurry."

Dean's scowl deepened. "Sam?"

"Now!" Sam's hands shook, he could feel Lucifer gaining momentum. The demon blood was quickly burning away, and with it would go his access to Lucifer's stockpile. "Dean, you have to help me! I can't...."

The last word came out as a snarl of rage. Sam was losing the battle. Lucifer reclaimed his vessel.

_No!_

Dean saw it too. He wrapped one hand around Sam's right arm, jerking him close so that he was held poised upon the edge between portal and blade. One move in either direction would end it all.

Lucifer met his gaze, smiling calmly as if he weren't seconds from dying. "You won't do it, Dean. You _can't _do it. You've known how much of a threat your brother has been for years and yet done nothing. Any other man in your position would have killed him long before now."

"Don't fool yourself," Dean growled. "Get out of my brother you son-of-a-bitch or I'll run you through, I swear to God."

"God?" Lucifer laughed. "You swear to God, who knew it would all come down to this and yet never lifted a finger to stop it? He's a bigger hypocrite than you are. Why should I believe anything you vow to a God neither of us believe in?"

Dean's weight shifted. The sword sliced easily through the cloth of two shirts, skin, and a quarter inch of flesh. "It's just a figure of speech," he hissed. "Get. Out."

"Dean!" Castiel appeared behind him. The angel's shirt was nearly completely soaked with blood, despite his best attempts to staunch it. The sword hadn't just wounded his vessel, but Castiel himself, just as the sword in Dean's hand could kill both Sam and Lucifer. "Dean! What are you waiting for? Do it! Do it now!"

Sam's battered spirit stirred, and he dragged himself back from where Lucifer had thrown him down. The words Castiel spoke triggered a flood of memories, memories of the day Sam chose to listen to Ruby instead of his own heart, his own brother. It was the same day he'd killed an innocent girl for her demon possessed blood, and shattered the last seal holding Lucifer at bay, unleashing the Apocalypse. They had come full circle. It was time to shut the door.

Reaching for the magic feather one last time, Sam unleashed every ounce of determination, every modicum of Winchester stubbornness left in him and gathered up all the energy he could still access. With it he would make one last bold move. It wasn't much, but then, he didn't need much.

He shoved Lucifer out of the way, brutally taking back what was his, and looked his brother in the eye. In a split second Sam saw recognition, and he saw fear. Dean knew what he was going to do before even one word was spoken.

"If you won't, Dean," Sam whispered. "I will."

Dean's eyes widened. He tried to pull back but couldn't for Sam's iron grip around his wrist. "No!"

Lucifer tried to stop him too, and failed. Sam was in control when he lurched forward onto the blade, but it was Lucifer's scream they all heard when Dean frantically withdrew the sword and sent Sam's body staggering backward into the portal. The maelstrom within rose up to meet him, winds screaming in a furious wail. The whirling winds lifted him off his feet and carried him into the air, suspended six feet above the opening below.

Sam's back arched, his head tipped back and his voice rose in agony as a burning light suddenly burst out from every pore. Castiel screamed for Dean to get down and cover his eyes, but the precaution was unnecessary. As soon as the light touched the swirling clouds it was sucked away in a crackle of lightening. Sam felt it more than saw it, felt it as if every piece of flesh was being stripped away from his body, but it was Lucifer being stripped from him, Lucifer being dragged back into his prison.

"Close it!" Dean looked back over his shoulder. "Cas! Close the door!" He turned back to the whirlwind, struggling to keep his feet. "Sam!"

"I can't! You're in the way!" Castiel screamed. "Let him go!"

"No!"

Cas grabbed him by the shoulder. "Dean, please! You can't help him!"

Dean shook him off angrily. "Just shut the damn door, Cas! Shut it with me in it, I don't give a rat's ass!" He turned back to the whirlwind. "Sam!" He reached out a hand. "SAM!"

_Can't. Tired._

"SAMMY TAKE MY HAND!"

_I can't. Let me go, just let me go...._

Another screaming voice echoed his own. It screamed not in pain, but in rage. Sam moved his head, peering down through the center of the swirling clouds to see a blinding white light rushing back toward him. It moved with all the speed and strength of a locomotive, roaring toward Sam as if to run him over. That was not, however, its intention. It was Lucifer, attempting to reclaim his vessel and his last chance at freedom. Sam could already feel the devil's cold, cruel presence prying at the edges of his consciousness.

_Oh God, no! He's coming. He's coming back! Dean....close....the...._

"DOOR!" Sam shrieked. "Dean!" He twisted his head, trying desperately to see, to grab onto something to stop his wild ride and get out of Lucifer's path. "Dean!" His arms flailed, he reached out for his brother's hand once, and missed. "Help me!" He reached again...

A hand slapped against his. Fingers closed tight around his wrist and began to pull. Sam cried out as his spinning body lurched to a stop. He heard Dean grunt, got a glimpse of closed eyes and clenched teeth, before he was pulled free of the whirling maelstrom and they both hit the floor with bruising force. Dean was bellowing at the top of his lungs:

"NOW, CAS! NOW!"

There was a deafening roar and then.....silence. Dean appeared in Sam's rapidly diminishing field of vision. He said something, Sam's name perhaps, but Sam never heard him.

* * *

Sam lost two weeks in a pain and drug induced haze. The only thing he remembered clearly was Dean's shouting match with a trio of doctors regarding just what narcotic Sam was withdrawing from, and a very peculiar hallucination featuring Jo Harvell and a bright yellow Yo-Yo.

"_See, it's called walking the dog...."_

He also _vaguely_ recalled a conversation with Gil Grissom regarding the forensics of stab wounds before waking up in a bed filled with blood and Bobby bellowing expletives at an orderly.

"That was real enough," Bobby said. "You'd ripped out all your sutures. Nearly bled to death right there in ICU because some idjit fell asleep on the job."

"How crappy would that have been?"

"Besides the obvious dying part?" Bobby snorted. "Pretty crappy."

They were back at Bobby's, having escaped the hospital before more questions could be asked. Sam would complete his recovery under the supervision of Bobby's current physician, a man who knew both Bobby, and what Bobby did for a living, very well. Sam was still off his feet, as weak as a kitten after extensive surgery and a lengthy, extremely unpleasant detox. He currently got around in a wheelchair, and was reminded daily by Bobby how lucky he was it wouldn't be a permanent fixture. The sword had missed his spine by less than an inch.

The door opened. Dean arrived with beer. He stopped at the edge of the living room where Sam and Bobby had been watching television, and chuckled. "Oh look, bookends."

Both of them shot him the bird.

Bobby took the beer into the kitchen. Dean sat down in a chair next to Sam and pulled a package of beer nuts out of his coat pocket. "I'm starved."

Sam, his own diet severely restricted until he healed, snorted. "What else is new?"

"Dunno. It's been real quiet. Heard a rumor today though."

"Yeah?"

"Demons are scared shitless."

With a scowl, Sam asked, "Scared of what?"

Dean grinned. "Us."

"Really?" Sam cocked a brow. "Seriously?"

"We scotched the devil. We're gods, Sammy."

"That's more than a little pretentious don't you think?"

"I'm milkin' it."

After a moment, Sam said, "You wouldn't get me a drink would you?"

Dean scowled at him.

Sam scowled back. "I'm sick."

"Your arms work."

"I'm tired."

Rising, Dean rolled his eyes and headed for the kitchen. "Sheesh, as if you got a belly full of steel or something."

"I'm milkin' it," Sam called, grinning. "Tea! With lemon."

A minute later Dean came back with a diet cola and dumped it unceremoniously into his brother's lap.

"Gods don't do tea bags."

Sam sighed wearily, but couldn't help cracking a smile. It'd be a long time before they'd be able to get back on the road together, and maybe that was a good thing. There were fences to mend, and emotional wounds to heal. He had a lot to make up for – again. Dean had left much unspoken – as usual.

_But eventually we'll meet somewhere in the middle, and everything will be all right, just like always._


End file.
